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She went to the mantel and lighted the dull lamp. By the flicker she read the face of the clock. "Tobey's late!" she exclaimed uneasily. Her mind never rested from its fear for Tobey. His childlike mentality made him always the same burden as when she had rocked him hour after hour, a scrawny mite of a baby on her breast. "It's a fearful night for him to be out!" she muttered. "Blood!
Tobey protested. "I seen Pa already. I want my supper out here! I don't want to go to bed!" Mrs. Brenner paused. "Where was Pa?" she asked. But Tobey's stretch of coherent thinking was past. "I dunno!" he muttered. Mrs. Brenner sighed. She pulled off the sticky shoes and rose stiffly. "Go get in bed," she said. "Aw, Ma, I want to stay up with my butterflies," the boy pleaded.
Tobey shook his head. "I dunno," he repeated his feeble denial. Munn advanced. "No use, Mrs. Brenner, you see. Tobey, you'll have to come along with us." Even to Tobey's brain some of the strain in the atmosphere must have penetrated, for he drew back. "Naw," he protested sulkily, "I don't want to." Dick Roamer stepped to his side. He laid his hand on Tobey's arm. "Come along," he urged. Mrs.
His teeth chattered and he crouched down on his knees before the open oven-door. "I'm cold," he complained. Mrs. Brenner came close to him and laid her hand on his wet, matted hair. "Tobey's a bad boy," she scolded. "You mustn't go out in the wet like this. Your hair's soaked." She got down stiffly on her lame knees. "Sit down," she ordered, "and I'll take off your shoes.
Tobey protested. "I seen pa already. I want my supper out here! I don't want to go to bed!" Mrs. Brenner paused. "Where was pa?" she asked. But Tobey's stretch of coherent thinking was past. "I dunno!" he muttered. Mrs. Brenner sighed. She pulled off the sticky shoes and rose stiffly. "Go get in bed," she said. "Aw, Ma, I want to stay up with my butterflies," the boy pleaded.
Something on her hand as she put it out for the sodden shoes caught her eye and she straightened, holding her hand up where the feeble light from the shelf caught it. "I've cut myself," she said aloud. "There's blood on my hand. It must 'a' been on those lacings of Tobey's." The old woman in the corner roused. "Blood!" she screeched. "Olga! Blood on his hands!" Mrs. Brenner jumped.
The way of escape was open. He laid his hand on the door. There were voices. He cowered, cast hunted glances at the bloody figure on the floor, bit his knuckles in a frenzy. As he looked, the eyes opened in his wife's swollen face, eyes aglow with triumph. "You'll swing for it, Mart!" she whispered faintly. "And the money's on the table! Tobey's saved!" Rough hands were on the door.
"You old screech-owl!" she cried. She wiped her hand quickly on her dirty apron and held it up again to see the cut. But there was no cut on her hand! Where had that blood come from? From Tobey's shoes? And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped in a mist of puzzling doubts. She snatched up the shoes, searching them with agonized eyes.
"Oh, ever so long, and we'd have had the money long ago if it hadn't been that a church burned down a long time ago somewhere in Virginia where one of the Bugwugs married somebody and all the records were lost, though I don't see what that had to do with it, because Tobey's here all ready to take the property, and it stands to reason that he wouldn't have been here unless that wedding had 'a' happened without they mean to insult us, which they'd better not, and wont, if they know when they are well off," and at the very thought of such a thing Mrs.
She felt the questioning intentness of Sheriff Munn's eyes on her stolid face and she felt that he did not miss the tremor of her eyes. "Where was your son this afternoon?" She smiled defiance. "I told you, on the beach." "Whose room is that?" Munn's forefinger pointed to Tobey's closed door. "That's Tobey's room," said his mother. "The mud tracks go into that room. Did he make those tracks, Mrs.
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